A Good Person Who Does Terrible Things
by nico420
Summary: Emotional Nny/Squee interaction. (non-romantic)


I do not own Johnny the Homicidal Maniac/Squee; the comics or characters. All credit goes to Jhonen Vasquez!

I didn't mean for it to be this so sappy, but whatever. I love Johnny and Squee's interactions, so I wanted to write about them being friends, but I wanted it to be funnier and edgier. It took a wrong turn, but hopefully you think it turned out okay for what it is. As for the original plan, I will have to try again.

* * *

Johnny whistled to his iPod as he rounded another corner, wondering aimlessly around his town. When he started, he was happy just to be out of the house again, content with having no destination, but after about a half an hour of walking, he found that he was searching for something; what?, he did not know. The little walk had turned into a giant metaphor for where he was going in life, which seemed to be nowhere at all. Feeling a little down, and wishing he had someone to turn to, somewhere to go besides back to square one, he reluctantly headed in the direction of his house. When he reached it, he stared up at it, feeling more lost than ever. He snickered at the irony, letting himself in; immediately cursing the dry, stuffy air.

He sighed, dissatisfied with the way his night was turning out. It was so quiet and lonely. He was regretting having come home so early; he could have found some asshole to hack off while he was out and about, or a street performer to disembowel or something. When he thought about it, he really wasn't in the mood for that, though. He was just feeling sad and self-pitiful. He seemed to be having an some sort of existential crisis or something. Afraid he was going to die alone, reminding himself that he had already died a long time ago. Still, once in a blue moon, on nights like this, he remembered what if felt like to be alive again. To feel something other than anger or confusion. He'd catch a glimpse of that awesome beauty, the perception of life through the eyes of an artist, and he'd realize how dead he truly was, because time and time again, he would forget that feeling, forget that it even existed. The closest he could compare it to was "Stendhal syndrome," which was a phenomenon he had come across in his early teens, while researching artists and stuff.

He wanted more than anything to see the world like that again, to hang onto that miraculous perception, to paint pictures with _real_ paint instead of smearing blood on the wall downstairs, instead of doodling Happy fucking Noodle Boy.

He turned to look out the window, just in time to see a light go off in his neighbor's house. It happened to be Squee's room. He smiled, instantly, thinking of little Squee, who he considered to be his one and only friend. His family moved across the street from him about ten years ago, and they had gotten, really, very close (Johnny and Squee, that is; Squee's parents were self-absorbed assholes that didn't give a damn about him. They paid such little attention to him, they didn't even notice when Johnny sneaked into their house or hung out in his room). He was probably the only person, only thing that Johnny could say he truly loved; like he was his own child or something.

"I think I'll pay him a visit," he said to himself, heading for the stairs. (Years ago, he discovered this underground tunnel that led directly to his neighbor's basement.)

* * *

When Squee heard his door creak open, he instinctively pulled the covers up to his face, but pulled them back down when he saw that it was only Johnny. He let out a sigh of relief. At one time, he would have been terrified of him, but not anymore. He always felt comforted when he saw him now.

When he was little, he was scared that he might hurt him, like he did all those other people, but it quickly became apparent that he had nothing to fear. Rather, he knew this man would always protect him, and felt more safe around him than he did anywhere else in the entire world. One time, when he was little, Johnny saved him from a pedophile who had led him to a secluded area outside the mall. Granted, Johnny also scarred him for life when he proceeded to cut off the guy's hand, crack open his skull, and remove his brain in front if him. Because of _him,_ Squee was all sorts of messed up, but he couldn't help but like him anyway. Johnny had cared for him more than anybody in the world had _ever_ cared for him, even his own parents. _Especially_ his own parents. He didn't know _why_ he cared for him so much, but he did. He only hoped it wasn't because he reminded Johnny of himself; he didn't want to think that it was possible for someone like him to turn out anything like his friend, didn't want to entertain the possibility that he _could,_ even though, given certain traumatic childhood events, he wouldn't be surprised if he did. Actually, he was surprised he wasn't crazy already. Every night, he was plagued by nightmares, and every day he had flashbacks. Some of them were Johnny's fault, but then again, if he hadn't intervened that one time... Well, he shuddered to think of the memories that pervert would have left him with.

"Hi, Nny," Squee said, sitting up in bed. He was a freshman in high school now, but he was still pretty short and had the same innocent face; it just looked a little older. Johnny looked like he barely aged at all, though he was now in his early thirties.

"How's it goin', Squee?" Johnny closed the door, softly, and sat down at the end of the bed. He didn't bother with turning the light on; it was much more relaxing in the dark.

"Pretty good. Just having some trouble falling asleep."

"Good thing I came over then, aye?" Johnny ruffled the boy's hair. "Now, you won't have to be lonely."

Squee just smiled, agreeing with him, internally.

"Um... Nny? I haven't seen you in a while. And it's been pretty quiet nextdoor. I thought maybe you disappeared or something. I was just wondering... Is everything okay?" Usually, he would hear Johnny yelling at what Squee figured were his imaginary "friends," or laughing maniacally or something. Sometimes he could people screaming. Johnny once said that he kept his victims in lower levels of the house, underground, which was why Squee couldn't hear them very often, so when he did, he figured Johnny must be doing something really awful to them. Lately, he hadn't heard a peep.

Johnny couldn't help but smile at Squee's concern. It felt good to know that someone cared for him. The best part about being friends with him was that he was never afraid he was going to hurt the kid or anything. Never, in the entirety of their friendship, had he given a single thought to touching a hair on his head, and he'd pulverize anyone that did. "Yeah. Everything's okay," he said, automatically. Once it was out, he realized it was a lie, though. He turned to face the darkness, the smile fading from his face. "I guess I've been a little out of sorts. I'm feeling a little lost, ya know?" Squee nodded, but Johnny wasn't looking at him to see it. "I don't know where I'm going. Hell, I don't even know where I've been. I don't know how I got here, so... I guess, I don't know where I am now, either." He looked over at Squee, with tears in his eyes, and flashed him a grin. Everything he said was true, but somehow he felt better now that he'd confided in someone. Suddenly, he was really glad he came over.

When Squee looked into Johnny's tearful eyes, he saw a frightened little boy that looked much like himself, and thought, _maybe it wouldn't be so bad if I was like him after all._ Somewhere in his damaged brain, deep within his core, a part of him remained unscathed; the _real_ Johnny. Not the one that mutilated the pedophile at the mall to teach him a lesson, but the part of him that sought to protect Squee in the first place. The part of him that cried and still tried to make art. The part of him that tried to justify his voilent acts, just so he could live with himself. The part of him that he showed Squee. Sure, the boy had seen other sides of him, but they were never shown to him directly; he'd always witnessed them offhand. When he was with Johnny, he was always with the _real_ Johnny, and he couldn't hate the real him. He was actually, really, quite fond of him.

Squee laughed to himself, thinking how odd their relationship was. He thought back to his childhood, when Johnny would break in through the window or creep up from the cellar to chat with him, and he would practically piss his pants. He didn't know why Johnny always came around to see him, or why he still did; why he liked him so much. He was scary, and evil (or so Squee once thought); he was the most terrifying man that he knew. And yet, he was always so polite to him, always so concerned. He treated him like a little brother or something: giving him advice, watching his back, asking him how he was doing. It took Squee a while to get used to him, to realize that he wasn't going to hurt him and to look passed his faults, but no one had ever cared for him before; not like Johnny had. Despite what he did to other people, he was always good to Squee; Squee couldn't help but respond to it. Before he knew it, they were friends.

"What are _you_ laughing at?" Johnny said, playfully.

"Nothing. I was just thinking about the first time we met."

Johnny cracked a smile, remember their first encounter. He broke into their house to find some Bactine for the scratches one of his victim's left on him while putting up a fight, and had to break Squee's window to get in because it was locked. The room was empty when entered, so he went to the bathroom and started looking through the medicine cabinet. Then this little boy comes in, carrying his teddy bear, asking him who he his and stuff.

Johnny couldn't remember his past very well, could barely remember his childhood at all (all he could seem to remember was being bullied a lot, and being called Noodle Boy, because he was skinny - which was where the inspiration for the name of his stick-figure comic book character came from - he figured the rest was deeply suppressed), but he felt like he saw a little bit of himself when he looked into Squee. A side of himself he lost touch with or something. He instantly took a liking to him.

"That was quite a night." He said. "You've grown up a lot since then."

"Yeah, I guess so." Squee said, reflecting on his past. He wasn't sure if "grown" was the right word for it; he would have gone with "spoiled." He was corrupted, disturbed; felt damaged and broken.

"You're better than most people," Johnny said. "Even with everything you've been through. You're better than most people. Better than me..."

Squee blushed a little. "Don't say that, Nny."

"It's true. You're not a homicidal maniac, like me."

"You're a good person."

"I do _terrible_ things!"

Squee nodded. "You're a good person who does terrible things." He gave Johnny a playful smile.

Johnny stared at him for a moment before bursting into laughter and ruffling his hair again. "You're a funny little Squee." Maybe there was some truth to his words.

Squee felt kind of useless sometimes in his relationship with Johnny. He knew that he helped a lot just by lending an ear, but never really knew what to say. Johnny was always giving him advice, and he never had any of his own to give. Nothing to remedy the situation. He wished he could _really_ help him, or at least knew how to comfort him better.

As if reading his thoughts, Johnny said, "I would probably go crazy if it wasn't for you."

Squee laughed a little on the inside, at the irony, but smiled politely on the outside. "I don't know what I would do without you, either."

That put a smile on Johnny's face, which, in turn, put a smile on Squee's. The two of them just sat there, smiling at each other for a minute.


End file.
